He made his speech a little elaborately. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. “How can you change people’s ideas if you have no power?” said Kitty Brett. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light.
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